


Jewels, Cake, and the Secrets of Fatherhood

by theeventualwinner



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Baby Tyelpe, Family, Fluff, Gen, Valinor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-10
Updated: 2014-11-10
Packaged: 2018-02-24 21:17:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2596691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theeventualwinner/pseuds/theeventualwinner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Celebrimbor and Curufin visit Grandfather for the weekend. <br/>Cross-posted from Tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jewels, Cake, and the Secrets of Fatherhood

_Part of a fic / stitch trade with[f-ennekins](http://tmblr.co/mKwGDH2U4kfbX4D3CmZogTA), who asked for some Fëanor and Curufin, with perhaps a little bonus Celebrimbor thrown in for good measure. Crossposted from Tumblr_

                          

* * *

 

 

“…And this is where your  _atar_  made his very first bracelet, did you know?” In the wide, airy expanse of Fëanor’s private forge Curufin stooped over his father’s workbench to pluck up a thin silver bangle from the cluttered array of materials strewn across it. The dappled light of Laurelin streamed in gentle golden ribbons through the polished windows, and into the light Curufin held the bangle up. Balanced upon his right hip, little Celebrimbor raised his head from his father’s shoulder, and curiously he peered at the bright, shimmering thing in Curufin’s hand.

“See, Tyelpë?” Curufin smiled, hoisting his son a little further up upon his hip, and he held the bracelet closer to show him. “It was one just like this: a simple little thing.”

“Bracelet…” Celebrimbor echoed, and as his father handed it to him his pudgy fingers closed clumsily about it. For a moment he stared at it, his round face pinched in childish intensity as he beheld the metal circlet in his hand before he looked aside, peering curiously over the further contents of Fëanor’s main workbench. To the glittering gemstones each sorted neatly by type and displayed in a line of woven boxes upon the bench’s far edge he looked most keenly, and as Curufin moved closer to them Celebrimbor brought the bracelet up to his mouth and absently began to chew upon its edge.

“The jewels, Tyelpë?” Curufin said, holding his son a little nearer to the boxes so that he might look more closely at their gleaming contents. “They are very fair, don’t you think? Which ones do you like the best?” 

Quizzically Celebrimbor looked down at the jewels, his left hand gripping tightly to his father’s tunic as he leaned away from him to stare intently down at the bench. His fuzzy little eyebrows furrowed as he considered his response, and his mouth set into a tight line as he thought. 

“These ones are called opals,” Curufin said, indicating a box full of milky, iridescent gemstones, and eagerly Celebrimbor listened to his father’s words. “These black stones here are onyx, and the red here garnet; see how they glitter so well in the light? And these blues, these are topaz.”

“Blue!” Celebrimbor chirped, and he clutched tightly to Curufin’s tunic as he exclaimed: “Blue!  I like the blue ones!” 

“An excellent choice,” Curufin smiled. “They are very handsome, I think.” Delicately Curufin extracted the bracelet now hanging forgotten from his son’s fingers and placed it back down upon the bench. “Perhaps when you are older you will make many a thing with those handsome topazes. A bracelet threaded with stones of all their hues, or a necklace studded in every shade of blue, or a coronet dripping with them; a sparkling token for a beautiful princess, hmm?”

Celebrimbor opened his mouth to answer, but before the eager words could pour over his lips suddenly his eyes grew wide. For over his father’s shoulder and towards the doors of the forge left ajar his gaze was drawn, and they lingered upon the tall, dark figure now silhouetted between them. A moment of uncertainty shivered through the air, but as the stranger stepped forward quickly realization came, and Celebrimbor inhaled one sharp, excited gasp. 

“ _Añdatya_!” he squealed, and he squirmed desperately in his father’s grip until Curufin set him down upon the floor. As his cloth-booted feet touched the flagstones he wobbled unsteadily for a moment, but Curufin subtly helped to straighten him, until almost delirious with delight he toddled over towards the doorway. “ _Añdatya_!”

“Well, hello there, my little princeling,” Fëanor laughed, stepping forward to snatch Celebrimbor up into his arms, twirling him once about in a wide, merry revolve before hugging him close. For a moment Celebrimbor clasped tightly into Fëanor’s chest, hugging him with such fierce, childish pleasure before then relaxing and beaming up at his grandfather as Fëanor looked down to him.

“How much you have grown, Tyelpë,” Fëanor marvelled. “Look at you now; such a strong, handsome boy.” 

From across the room Curufin chuckled, and warmly Fëanor smiled over to him, before Celebrimbor hugged himself firmly to his chest once more. For a short while Fëanor simply held him, until Celebrimbor wormed his way free of that tight embrace.

“Look,  _Añdatya,”_ he began excitedly, leaning back in Fëanor’s arms and pointing over to the workbench. “ _Atya_  was showing me… was showing me the… the t-topaz! The sparkly blue topaz!”

“Was he now?” Fëanor smiled, and he juggled Celebrimbor over to an easier hold upon his right hip as he stepped a little further into the forge. “Was the topaz your favourite then, Tyelpë?”

“Yes! It was all…” Celebrimbor’s brows crossed in concentration for a moment, until with a burst of triumph he declared: “Sparkly!” 

At that Fëanor laughed, and opposite him Curufin smiled proudly. Celebrimbor wriggled upon his grandfather’s hip, his hands gripped nervously into the folds of Fëanor’s shirt as breathlessly he asked: “Will you toss me,  _Añdatya_? Like… like last time? Please?”

“Oh,” Fëanor mused, affecting a playful, mock-serious tone as he looked wryly down at his grandson. “I am not sure, Tyelpë. I think you’re getting too heavy for your feeble old _añtatya_.” 

“No!” Celebrimbor laughed, and gently he hit his fist into Fëanor’s shoulder. “No, that’s silly! Toss me,  _Andatya. Pleeeease_?” 

“Hmm,” Fëanor pouted, his lip curling ponderously. But subtly he winked over to Curufin, before slowly looking back to Celebrimbor. “Maybe… maybe like  _this_!”

With one smooth twist Fëanor shifted Celebrimbor into his arms, and then quickly tossed him perhaps a foot into the air above his head, before catching him once more and hugging him safely back into his chest. Celebrimbor’s ear-splitting shriek of surprise and delight was left bouncing about the wide walls of the forge, and a fond, reminiscent smile cracked over Curufin’s face. 

“Again,  _Añdatya_!” Celebrimbor begged, his eyes shining with adoration. “Again!”

Fëanor happily obliged him, tossing him upwards a little higher this time, and Celebrimbor giggled joyously as his grandfather snuggled him safely back into his chest afterwards. For a moment they stood still, and tucked against Fëanor’s shoulder Celebrimbor was braving himself to ask if his grandfather would do it  _again_  when another voice slid merrily through the open doorway. 

“Now, now, what is all of this commotion?” 

“ _Añdemmë_!” Celebrimbor cried, and Fëanor quickly set him down as he began to kick and wriggle excitedly in his grip. Celebrimbor’s face lit up with glee, and with hasty, clumsy, exhilarated steps he toddled the few paces over to the doorway, and Nerdanel stooped down to embrace him. 

A warm smile folded over her freckled cheeks as she enveloped her grandson’s chubby little body into her arms, and after a moment of enduring Celebrimbor’s surprisingly vigorous hug she gasped: “My, Tyelpë, look at you! So big and tall, now. And the splitting image of your  _atar_  when he was young, did you know?”

“I missed you,  _Añdemmë_ ,” Celebrimbor murmured, his face squashed contentedly into Nerdanel’s shoulder and his fingers knotted through the sweep of her auburn hair. 

“I have missed you too, dear one. You must come and visit me more often; you tell your _atar_  so.” Softly Nerdanel extracted herself from Celebrimbor’s clinging grip, and with a mischievous glint sparking in her hazel eyes then she smiled across at her grandson. “Do you want to know a secret, Tyelpë?”

“Yes!” Celebrimbor squeaked, almost bouncing upon the balls of his feet in his excitement. “What is it? What is it,  _Añdemmë_?” 

“I have heard,” Nerdanel whispered into his ear, and cheekily she grinned over at Fëanor and Curufin as she continued: “I have heard that there has been a special batch of cinnamon cakes baked in the kitchen just now, and that they have come out of the oven all warm and tasty. A very special batch of cakes, I heard, for a very special little princeling.”

“Really?” Celebrimbor gasped, his eyes wide. 

“Really.” An incredulous smile cracked across Celebrimbor’s face, and gently Nerdanel continued, “Shall we go and investigate these rumours, Tyelpë? Let us leave your  _atar_  and _añdatar_  to talk for a while, and perhaps they shall come and join us later.” 

“Cake,  _Atya!”_ Celebrimbor called excitedly, and Curufin smiled over to him in encouragement. Then Nerdanel arose, and Celebrimbor clutched tightly to her hand as she stood, before tugging her towards the door. “Let’s go,  _Añdemmë_! Let’s go!” 

With an affable smile Nerdanel allowed her grandson to pull her from the forge, and the burble of Celebrimbor’s exuberant chatter slowly receded as together they walked through the gardens and back to the house proper, and to the kitchens and the promise of cake therein. For an indulgent moment both Fëanor and Curufin stood silently, fondly listening to the dimming lilt of Celebrimbor’s high little voice, until amusedly Curufin sighed: “You spoil him, you know.”

“I am his  _añdatar_ ,” Fëanor smiled. “The spoiling of my sons’ children is my prerogative. Nay, my unassailable right!” 

At such an assertion Curufin tutted, but swiftly then he stepped forward, and warmly he embraced his father. As they parted Fëanor clapped him companionably upon the arm, before withdrawing slightly to appraise him.

“You are well, Curvo?” Fëanor enquired. “And Silariel?”

“Yes, we are very well, thank you,” Curufin replied. “Silariel is visiting with her cousins in Valimar for the week, so it is only Tyelpë and I at home for the time being. Hence, we thought to pay a visit of our own.”

“Ah, the trials of father-ship,” Fëanor snorted, and playfully he rolled his eyes. “And here you have only  _one_  son to your name.” 

“Mmm,” Curufin’s lip twisted, and idly he looked aside to the windows, and to the greenery of the gardens glimpsed out through them. “I am swiftly coming to that realization. Tyelpë is so very… energetic. _Unceasingly_  energetic, and always so keen for his _atya_ ’s attentions… I must ask,  _Atar_ : how in the name of the Valar did you manage with _seven_  of us?” 

“Curvo,” Fëanor smiled, and a knowing twinkle lit up in his eyes. “It seems that you have yet to grasp the golden phrase of fatherhood. The key to one’s salvation, if any might be found. The secret to salvaging what peace and quiet one can snatch from one’s offspring short of fleeing for the hills.”

“Oh?”

“A simple phrase, yet one so exquisitely underrated.”

For a moment Fëanor paused, he bit back the swell of laughter that rose in him at Curufin’s rather desperate expression, and imperiously then he spoke it.   

“’Ask your  _amillë_.’”

A pained groan escaped Curufin’s lips, bitterly he squinted over at his father; and at the abjectly tortured expression spreading over his son’s face Fëanor could not help but laugh.

“Come on, Curvo,” he bade jovially, turning away to stride through the doors of the forge and out into the gardens beyond, and over his shoulder he called as he walked: “I hear tell of remedial cake in the kitchens, and never should one let such rumours pass them by without thorough investigation!”

 

* * *

 

For a quick note on linguistics: I am no linguist, merely I have constructed the words for ‘grandfather’ and ‘grandmother’ from the informal Quenya nouns ‘atya’ and ‘emmë’ alike. The word ‘grandson’ is given as ‘ñgyon’ in the Etymologies, therefore the prefix ‘ng’ has herein been affixed to the existing words for ‘mummy’ and ‘daddy’. A likely derivative may then have been ‘añgatar’ for ‘grandfather’ but ‘anga’ is already a known noun for ‘iron’ and therefore is unlikely in its usage in this context. Yet the sound ‘ñg’ may easily transmute to the nasalized ‘ñd’, therefore deriving my ultimate prefixes of ‘añd’ to the stems ‘atya’ and ‘emmë’ to signify both ‘granddaddy’ and ‘grandmummy’ which more or less equate to a childlike vocabulary. 

It is also plausible to use the words ‘haru’ and ‘haruni’ for ‘grandfather’ and ‘grandmother’ as have been reconstructed in the Parma Eldalamberon, but I didn’t really fancy it so I derived my own words. So yeah, that’s that. Hope you liked it anyway! x

 

 


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